Chapter Eleven #2
Whatever he’d meant to say, Cameron never found out, because the woman placed a hand on his thin, frail arm and shook her head. Her eyes went to the group of reporters inching closer, and Cameron didn’t think he imagined the look of triumph that flashed across her face .
“I’m sorry,” she told him, her voice carrying so that anyone within the vicinity would hear her clearly. “We’re just a little overwhelmed. It’s been so long. We never thought we’d see Ashley again.”
Cameron’s heart knocked painfully against his ribs, and he dug his fingers into Asher’s shoulders to keep himself upright. This could not be fucking happening. There was no way in hell this woman was who he thought she was.
He was still trying to wrap his mind around it when she opened her mouth and destroyed all doubt.
“I’m Suzanne Derringer, and this—” She gestured to the man beside her. “—is my husband, Lawrence.” Tears welled in her eyes, and she offered a wobbly smile that was as fake as the Fendi handbag swinging from her arm. “We’re Ashley’s parents.”
~
Asher was going to puke. Or pass out. Maybe both.
At his mother’s tearful declaration, the few members of the media still present scrambled to get closer, shoving recording devices at her and feverishly snapping pictures.
No one else in the room seemed to realize that Asher’s whole world was going up in flames.
Still, that didn’t stop them from staring confusedly as reporters fired off questions, all shouting to be heard over one another .
He shouldn’t have been surprised. From the moment Kyle had walked back into his life, some part of him had been expecting this.
His parents were far too greedy not to try to cash in on his misfortunes.
In his version of events, though, he saw them on television in some melodramatic interview—or twelve.
They had quotes in a badly titled tell-all book where they talked about his childhood and how they’d done their best to be good parents.
Really, they’d say, they just didn’t know where it had all gone so wrong.
At no point had he imagined they would show up during his first-ever public appearance to ambush him.
He’d been fourteen the last time he’d seen them, a scared, confused boy who hadn’t understood why his parents didn’t love him.
They hadn’t tried to find him when they’d kicked him out onto the streets.
They hadn’t come looking for him. Even when his time with Mitchell Faraday had landed him in the hospital, they hadn’t come.
They didn’t give a damn about him, never had.
Despite his mother’s superb acting skills, he knew better than to believe they were there to reconcile.
He didn’t know what they had been promised or who had made said promises, and he didn’t care.
Whatever game they were playing, he wanted no part of it.
As his mother continued to sob balefully for the reporters and stare misty-eyed into their cameras, the shock he’d felt at first seeing them faded, burned away by a molten, righteous anger .
“What are you doing here?”
His mother turned to look at him, her hand going to her mouth to muffle another exaggerated wail. “We heard what happened. We read about what that awful man…” She trailed off into a hiccupping sob. “When we realized…when we heard…I’m so sorry. My sweet baby.”
That nauseated feeling returned, and Asher clenched his teeth as his mouth flooded with saliva.
“Why didn’t you tell us, son?” Lawrence Derringer wrapped a comforting arm around his wife’s shoulders. “We would have helped you.”
The tip of his bulbous nose glowed a bright crimson, but he wasn’t sobbing like his wife. More likely, his glassy, red-rimmed eyes were a byproduct of a recent bottle of gin than any real emotion.
“I’m not your son,” he answered quietly, his blood pressure rising along with his anger. “I haven’t been since you kicked me out seventeen years ago.”
“We made a mistake,” his mother keened. “We regretted it the moment you left.”
“We looked for you,” his father added solemnly. “We searched everywhere.”
Asher slammed his hands down on the table and surged to his feet, his head throbbing with furry. “That’s a lie. ”
Long, slender fingers surrounded his forearm, applying just enough pressure to get his attention. When he turned, Cameron shook his head.
“Don’t say anything else.” His eyes narrowed at Suzanne. “We’re leaving.”
Knowing it was the right thing to do, and actually following through, were two very different things. Asher didn’t want to leave. He didn’t want to run and hide this time. Every cell of his body wanted to rage against his parents, to tell the world what kind of people they really were.
“Asher,” Cameron said, pulling insistently at his arm. “This isn’t the place.”
“He’s right.” Ryder appeared, angling himself between Asher and his parents. “If you’ll just come with me, Mr. Dare.”
Realizing that the small group of reporters had turned to him now, their faces eager and hungry, Asher choked back the vile, incriminating words threatening to spew from his lips. His parents had baited him, lured him into this trap, and worse, he’d let them.
“Yeah,” he said, pushing away from the table, “let’s go.”
Questions followed him all the way out of the building, but he kept this head down and said nothing. It took less than five minutes to make it through the building and out the back door to the waiting Escalade. No one followed them.
Cameron cursed loudly as Ryder peeled out of the parking lot and turned toward Main Street. “I can’t believe that twisted, manipulating, slimy bastard! I’m going to rip his goddamn head off and spit down his neck hole.” He slammed his palm against the leather seat and grunted. “Fuck!”
For some insane reason, seeing Cameron completely losing his shit had the exact opposite effect on Asher. Instead of stoking his temper, it…calmed him.
“It’s okay, Cameron.”
“What about this is okay?” He whipped around, his eyes wild and a little desperate. “We need to call Talon. He needs to know that Landon was there.”
Asher tilted his head. “Landon was there?”
“Yeah, he stopped me when I was on my over to the table. Willow—” He stopped abruptly and shook his head. “Never mind. The point is he was there, and I think he’s the one who brought your parents.”
Pulling to a stop in front of Cameron’s illuminated driveway, Ryder killed the engine and opened his door. “I’ll give you two a minute. I’m just going to check the perimeter.”
Cameron thanked him, then threw open his own door to exit the vehicle. Cursing loudly, he paced up and down the driveway, waving his hands around and shaking his head at whatever argument he was having with himself.
Asher followed at a more leisurely pace, not even sure what he felt anymore. He’d gone from shocked, to furious, to concerned in the span of about ten minutes.
Now, he just felt numb.
When Cameron suddenly turned and stormed toward the house, Asher didn’t follow. Rounding the SUV, he stopped near the front bumper and shoved his hands deep into his pockets.
“I should go.”
Cameron paused halfway up the painted steps and turned. It seemed to take him a long time to decide what he wanted to say. “If that’s what you want.” He jerked his head toward the front door. “Let me just pack a bag.”
“No.”
“No?” Cameron descended one of the steps but stopped when Asher backed away. “Are you okay?” Dropping his head, he rubbed the back of his neck and sighed. “Shit, I’m sorry. I should have asked that sooner.”
Truthfully, Asher didn’t know if he was okay or not.
The longer he had to dwell over what had happened, the harder he began to spiral.
It had been almost two decades since he’d seen his parents, and he’d accomplished a lot during that time.
It hadn’t been easy, and there was much of his past he’d rather not remember, but he’d made it.
Yet, seeing them in that library, staring into the faces who had made his life hell then discarded him like trash, he was right back to being that scared little boy all over again.
Things had just been starting to return to some semblance of normal, but he knew that by morning, the story of his tearful reunion with his family would be headline news.
Reporters would be scrambling for another angle on the story, and they wouldn’t care where it came from.
He’d already put Cameron through so much, and now, it looked like it was starting all over again.
It wasn’t fair, not to him, and certainly not to Cameron.
God, he couldn’t think. His head ached and spun, his thoughts racing too fast for him to focus on any one point. He needed to be alone. He needed time to get his head straight. As childish as it sounded, he needed five damn minutes to just wallow in his misery without an audience.
Instead of explaining all of this like an actual adult, however, what he said was, “I’m fine. I just need to go home.”
Cameron tensed, and his eyes narrowed. “You’re running again.”
It wasn’t a question, and he wasn’t exactly wrong, but in this instance, he wasn’t right, either. Asher wasn’t running. He was escaping. A subtle difference, but an important one .
“I’ve told you I’m not going anywhere,” Cameron continued when Asher didn’t respond. “They’re not just words. I’ve backed it up by still being here.” He stared down at the peeling paint on the porch and shook his head. “I don’t know what else I can do.”
“That’s not—”
“I’m here, Asher.” Cameron’s head snapped up, and he pinned him with a stare so intense Asher swore he could feel it in his soul. “I’m in this. I can handle your drama, and if I couldn’t, I promise I’d tell you. I don’t need you to protect me.”
But Asher needed it.
He needed to keep Cameron safe, keep him whole and happy.
No one would blame the guy if he wanted off the crazy ride that had become Asher’s life, least of all Asher.
Hell, he’d walk away from it all in a heartbeat, but unfortunately, he didn’t have that luxury.
Cameron did, and running in the opposite direction would be the best decision he ever made.
Cameron spoke into the silence. “Let me help you.” His voice was soft, almost pleading. “Let me be there for you.”
Asher wanted that, but he couldn’t accept the offer, not right then. His head was too fucked up, too filled with the past, and he needed to leave before he broke something between them he couldn’t fix. Until he got his shit together, he wasn’t any good to anyone, least of all Cameron.
“I’ll call you. I just…I need to go. I need some time.”
Cameron looked as if he’d argue, but after a pregnant pause, he dipped his head once. “Yeah, okay. If you need anything—”
“I’ll call you,” Asher repeated.
Cameron stepped up onto the porch and shuffled a few steps backwards toward the door. “Okay, then. Goodnight, Asher.”
The pain in his voice and the dejected slump of his shoulders, lanced at Asher’s heart, but he couldn’t bring himself to call Cameron back.
He didn’t know what to do. Didn’t know what he wanted. Fuck, he didn’t even know who he was anymore.
The one thing he was certain of, however, was that he needed to figure it out, and fast, before he ended up irrevocably destroying the best thing that had ever happened to him.